


Everyone Likes Charles

by Rosawyn



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Erik, Asian Character(s), Beer, Black Character(s), Canon Character of Color, Canon Het Relationship, Cars, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is a Teacher, Chess, Class Differences, Co-workers, Erik Being Cocky, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Big Dorkface, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Eye Contact, F/M, First Impressions, First Meetings, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, House Party, Kindness, Latino Character, M/M, Mechanics, Native American Character(s), Not Canon Compliant, POV Male Character, Party, Partying, Siblings, Social Anxiety, Step-Brothers, Step-siblings, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Everyone who's met him likes him.”  Cain's grin was even stupider than before.  “Once you meet him, you'll see.”</p><p>It was almost like a challenge then.  And <i>damn</i>.  Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Likes Charles

The afternoon sun pouring through the open garage door was warm on Erik's back as he leaned over the engine of the car he had been fixing, tightening the last bolt. Thankfully, his shift was over soon so he wouldn't have to listen to his co-worker, Cain, talk anymore. Cain had been generally easy to work with until he'd gotten it into his head that morning that Erik needed “friends” and “social interaction” and such rubbish. All Erik had said was that he had no “plans” for the weekend, that he never had plans for any weekend. Not that it was any of Cain's damn business. Erik should have kept his stupid mouth shut, should have lied, something.

“Look, my brother's having a bit of a party at his place tomorrow.” Cain was wiping grease off his hands with a filthy rag. “You'd be more than welcome to come.”

Erik quirked an eyebrow at Cain. “Your brother wouldn't mind if random strangers showed up at his party?”

“Nah, he probably wouldn't mind that actually, but you're not exactly a 'random stranger.' You work with me, after all.”

Erik slammed the hood closed with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “I don't like people, Cain.”

“You'll like Charles.” Cain grinned, goofy and a bit lopsided. “ _Everyone_ likes Charles.”

Erik grabbed a rag and started rubbing the worst of the grease off his hands. “I can barely tolerate you at work, and I get paid to be here. Why would I want to spend even _more_ time with you than I already have to? And that's just _impossible_ , by the way—not everyone likes Charles, because _I_ don't like him.”

“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And _damn_. Erik _hated_ saying no to a challenge.

Cain held out a grease-smudged scrap of paper with the address and time scribbled on it.

Erik took it.

 

* * *

 

Saturday, 7:00pm. Erik checked the address once more before getting out of his truck. Cain's printing was blocky and childish, but it was pretty legible. This just seemed like a much nicer part of town than Erik had expected from Cain—they worked the same hours for the same pay, and Erik could barely afford a crummy one room apartment in the not quite worst part of downtown. Granted, Cain had said it was his brother's house.

For a moment Erik wondered if maybe everyone liked Charles because he was rich, but he quickly dismissed that idea as stupid. It was a nice house, but not _that_ nice. There were twenty others just as nice on the same street, no doubt mostly inhabited by smarmy douche bags who spent their Saturdays washing their driveways and the kind of women who carry small dogs in their purses and whose lipstick matches their earrings.

This is why Erik hated people. He never had to look far to find a reason. He considered getting back in his truck and driving home, enjoying yet another evening on his beat up old sofa, trying to watch some lame TV show while eating takeout, drinking beer, and listening to his neighbours fight. Screw it, he was already here—might as well check it out anyway. He could always leave if he found himself taken with the urge to carve anyone's eyes out with a table knife. 

The house itself was mostly inoffensive. Muted blue siding with dark wood trim—probably considered understated and classy—with those little narrow windows on either side of the front door so that upper-middle class people didn't need to peer through peep-holes to make sure it wasn't a crazed gunman banging on the door. There was even a mat on the step, but it was woven from some sort of rough dull brown material and appeared to be entirely _practical_ , mercifully free of any cheery pictures or “Welcome!” messages.

There was a door-knocker, though, as well as a door-bell. Far be it from Charles' posh guests to risk bruising their knuckles, but which of these entirely unnecessary contraptions was he meant to actually use? He honestly hadn't been pondering the question for longer than thirty seconds when he heard Cain's mocking voice from behind him. “Don't chicken out now, Lennsher. I promise he doesn’t bite unless you ask him to, and only then if he's sure you mean it.”

Erik spun and fixed Cain with a glare, but Cain just laughed. It was nearly impossible to intimidate Cain, and considering the guy looked like the unholy love-child of a linebacker and a tank on steroids, Erik admitted that made sense. Cain put one of the six-packs of beer he was carrying under his arm to free his other hand to open the door, shouldering past Erik in the process. Stepping inside, he set the beer down to pull off his boots while yelling in the general direction of the rest of the house, “Charles! We're here!”

Erik resented the implication that Cain had brought him. Even if Cain _was_ the only reason he was here. Even if Cain _had_ all but physically dragged him. Glowering, Erik pulled off his own boots and added them to the row along the wall. It looked like about ten people were already here, unless some of them had kept their shoes on or had arrived barefoot.

As Erik followed Cain to the kitchen, he had to admit the house was nice. Not fancy, but _nice_. The unassuming beige carpets were soft without being extravagant in that mushy way some well-off people seemed to prefer, and more importantly, clean. The whole house even smelled clean, not like bleach or other cleaners, just...clean, in the way Erik supposed most homes could if they weren't constantly invaded by various types of stale smoke and that disgusting “air freshener” that smelled like equal parts children's cold medicine and hell that the building manager insisted on spraying in the hallways twice a week. And if the bathroom fan wasn't broken and someone actually cleaned the fridge and took out empty bottles and cans more often than every six months—Erik figured those were probably also important factors.

The kitchen, he discovered, had an _island_. And all the counter-tops were marble. Cain plunked his six-packs of beer down on the marble top of the kitchen island as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I brought beer,” Cain announced loudly. “Do you want me to stick it in the fridge?”

“Yes, that would be great, thank you.” The voice calling back sounded far more posh than Cain's, like someone from Boston or even...England? One of those educated parts of England. Erik didn't have much time to consider this, though, because the owner of the voice appeared in the other kitchen doorway, a bright smile on his face.

Erik would have assumed this was one of Charles' many friends, but Cain was talking while rattling beer bottles around in the fridge. “Charles, this is Erik from work. Erik, that's my brother, Charles.”

Bloody hell. _Brother_? How could these two even be related? Erik didn't think he could have imagined a person more opposite from Cain in every possible way. Cain was every high-school's dream for football MVP, more years running than a student was strictly supposed to be in high-school. Charles was captain of the chess club, valedictorian, and most likely to be shoved into a locker _by_ Cain, because he probably could still _fit_.

And Charles was smiling even more brilliantly now, extending a hand, and saying, “It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm glad you could make it. Welcome.”

Erik dumbly shook the offered hand, surprised at the strength of the grip. Erik reminded himself even _he_ looked a bit wimpy next to Cain. Charles' grip was firm and confident, his skin soft, and his hand warm. Erik knew he should say something, but his mind had gone stupidly blank when he made the mistake of eye contact. Charles had the brightest, the bluest, the most mesmerizingly hypnotizingly amazingly beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. 'Maybe _that's_ why everyone likes him,' Erik's useless brain supplied. 'He's got some sort of vampire thrall power when you look into his eyes!'

“Yeah, uh, it's—it's good to meet you too.” Finally, coherent words. Well, sort of. Erik scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Your house is...nice.”

It was a really lame thing to say, but Charles didn't seem to mind. He looked and sounded completely sincere when he replied with thanks.

Cain opened two bottles of beer and handed one to Erik. He gestured to his brother with the other, asking if Charles wanted one, but it seemed Charles already had one in the other room.

“Won't you come in and sit down?” Charles was saying, leading them both into the living room. Or sitting room, or whatever they called it in houses with way too many rooms. It was a room with couches and upholstered chairs, no matter what it was called. There was even a coffee table, which appeared to be constructed entirely out of real solid wood rather than those sawdust and glue things normal people usually had or those impractically “artistic” contraptions of glass and twisted metal he might have expected in any house on this street. On the coffee table were plates and bowls with assorted snack foods—chips, pretzels, cookies, crackers and cheese, vegetables and dip. Erik noticed everyone seemed generally more interested in their beer than the food, though.

Erik sat in the first available seat, turning his beer absently in his hands, hoping no one else could hear his heart pounding in his ears. There were altogether too damn many people in the room, and he was being introduced to the whole smiling lot of them. “Everyone, this is Erik, a friend of Cain's from work.”

Erik almost snorted at being called Cain's “friend,” but then a girl who looked maybe a couple of years younger than Charles spoke up. “I think we should all go around in a circle and say our names and a bit about ourselves, so Charles can relax and not have to do all the work with introductions. I'll start. I'm Raven, Charles' sister. Well, adopted sister. And of course you already know Cain, our step-brother.”

Oh, _step_ -brother. That explained a few things. Erik could have easily believed Raven as Charles' biological sister, though. Her long blond hair looked darker at the roots and could easily be naturally brown like Charles' hair. And her facial features and build didn't look shockingly different either. She looked a great deal more like Charles than she looked like Cain, anyway.

Next to speak was a tough looking young punk with spiky blonde hair. “Hi, I'm Alex. I met Charles when I was doing some time in prison, and he was volunteering to teach some high-school courses there. Thanks to him I've got my GED now. I work in construction, a job I got because Charles put in a good word for me.”

Alex saluted Charles with his bottle of beer, then took a sip. “And this is my boyfriend, Darwin.” He laced his fingers with those of the dark-skinned man beside him, saying the words with the underlying force of someone who expected homophobia and was just waiting for someone to give him a reason to deck them. Erik found he respected Alex, even if he didn't actually like him.

“Yeah, I'm Darwin.” He gave a little wave and a small smile. “I drive cab. I met Alex though our mutual friend, Charles, and I can never thank Charles enough for that.”

The group laughed a bit in response.

“Hi, I'm Angel,” an apparently Latina girl with a wide smile said, sitting forward on the edge of her seat and waving with a giggle. “I wait tables at Charles' favourite bar, The Freak Show. But when I'm here, Charles always brings me drinks, so that's nice.”

The group laughed a bit at that as well.

A rather unique-looking Asian girl with bright red hair spoke next, her accent thick. “Hi. I am Yukio. It's so nice to meet you. I am Logan's friend, but also Charles' now of course.”

Logan, it turned out, was the scruffy, burly guy slouched on the couch to her right who somehow looked both constantly wary and languidly unconcerned at the same time, his arm around a Native American woman with long black hair who was curled against his right side. “I'm Logan, and this is my girlfriend Kayla. We're from Canada, originally. I work at the sawmill, and Kayla's a school teacher.”

Last to speak was a curly red-haired guy with a million freckles and eyes that looked perpetually half-asleep. “I'm Sean. I currently wash dishes at The Freak Show, so Angel and I are co-workers. I've known Charles since I was in high-school, though, over at St Francis'. He was volunteering for the anti-bullying program the year I graduated. Probably wouldn't have, y'know, _graduated_ if not for him.”

Like Alex before him, Sean saluted Charles with his beer.

Taking a sip of his own beer, Erik considered all this new information. The most striking thing about the group was how obviously diverse they were. Black, Asian, Latina, Irish Catholic...even Native American. An ex-con. A ginger. A gay couple. _Canadians_ even. Charles couldn't even have normal siblings, but instead had a step-brother and an adopted sister. Erik felt an irrational urge to blurt out, “By the way, I'm Jewish,” because _clearly_ that's what this group was missing. He took another sip of his beer instead, trying not to laugh madly at the insanity of it all.

With introductions over with, the conversation started up once more around Erik who couldn’t follow anything now that everyone was talking at the same time. Watching Charles, though, watching him smile and laugh with his friends, most of whom were obviously of a lower social class than he was, it started to become clear to Erik: everyone liked Charles, because Charles liked _everyone_. Either the guy was really genuinely sincere, or he was the best damn actor Erik had ever seen.

Erik found himself secretly hoping he wasn't somehow the one exception, the one person Charles just couldn't like. People like Alex and Logan might be generally anti-social, but at least they had _someone_. Erik had been alone for so long he wasn't sure he was capable of _this_ , of having people he wasn't being paid to tolerate.

“Erik, I want to show you something.” Erik looked up to see Charles looking down at him with a warm smile. He'd been lost in thought, silently sipping his beer as the conversation buzzed on around him. He felt a little disoriented, almost as though he'd just been woken from sleep.

“Sure,” he mumbled as he stood and followed Charles through a sliding door onto a wooden patio. He flexed his toes inside his socks, glad Charles seemed to keep the patio swept clean.

“Well, this is my yard.” Charles laughed softly, gesturing to the grassy area.

“It's dark,” Erik offered, his lips quirking up at the corners.

Charles laughed again, rocking on the balls of his feet. “That happens, when the sun goes down. I suppose I could get some lights for out here...”

“It's fine,” Erik interrupted him. At least Charles _had_ a yard. With grass and some shrubs even. “I like it.”

Damn, he sounded stupid again. He probably should just keep his mouth shut, but for some reason he had this mad desire to compliment Charles and ended up stupidly complimenting his home instead. But the truth was, he did like it. He liked the dark and the way Charles looked with his face in shadows.

Again, though, Charles didn't seem to mind or even notice how dumb Erik sounded. “Thanks. It's nothing fancy, but it's nice to be able to get some fresh air sometimes.”

Erik thought of his own grungy cement balcony. The air out there was never anything he would describe as “fresh,” but it was sometimes preferable to the air inside. “Yeah, it is.”

“You looked like you could use some fresh air. I take it you don't prefer large groups of people.” Charles sat on the edge of the patio, his feet on the steps.

Erik sat next to him. “I don't. I don't like people, in general. I'm not sure if Cain told you that about me.”

“Cain told me you were an excellent mechanic. And that he enjoyed your sense of humour.”

Sense of humour? Erik wasn't sure he had one of those. And it seemed Cain was kinder than Erik would be, unless Charles was editing Cain's description. If asked about Cain, Erik probably would have said he was a stupid pain in the ass who talked too much. Erik wondered if he was supposed to say something. He really was terrible at these “social interaction” things. He looked sideways at Charles, but Charles didn't look awkward or uncomfortable with the silence. He looked...well, other than being probably the most impossibly beautiful human being Erik had ever seen, he looked relaxed and content.

After a few moments, Charles looked sideways at him. “You don't happen to play chess, do you?”

Captain of the chess club indeed. Erik couldn't help laughing.

“Am I that funny?” Charles had turned slightly to face him, smiling, his eyes almost seeming to emit their own light.

“It's just, when I first met you, I thought you looked like captain of the chess club. I don't mean that as an insult,” Erik quickly clarified. “And I do play chess. Or at least, I used to.”

“Would you like to play again? I'm afraid I annoy everyone with my undying love for the game.”

Erik hadn't had anyone to play with in years. He didn't think he'd missed it, but he suddenly found he wanted to play. It turned out Charles had a chess set upstairs. One of those solid wood things that probably cost several hundred dollars when brand new. This one could be an antique.

“I'm probably a little rusty,” Erik admitted as he set up his pieces.

“Would you like me to go easy on you?” Charles' eyes twinkled from across the board.

“Please don't.” It wasn't a proper challenge if the other person wasn't really _playing_.

Erik finally beat Charles on their third game. It was a great feeling after having been beaten so soundly the first two times. It was an even better feeling when Charles said, “Good game,” and sounded like he meant it.

Charles looked at the wall clock, his expression shocked and then guilty. “I'm so sorry for keeping you so late, my friend. We'll have to do this again.”

Charles' smile was like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a chill December morning. “It's alright. I don't mind. And yes, again. I'd like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Erik glared at Cain when he arrived at work the following afternoon.

“So?” Cain grinned smugly. “Don't lie—you like him.”

“We both like chess.”

“So I heard.” Cain winked at him as he pulled on his coveralls.

Erik hit his head against the wall of the dingy garage office hard enough to hurt. “I think I'm in love with him.”

“That's good, though!” Cain was smiling overly eager, like someone who didn't want anyone to think he was homophobic. “Charles likes guys too, and he's currently single.”

Erik glowered at the implication that he liked “guys.” Charles was _one_ guy, one single person out of the billions on the planet. Who might not even be human, so it barely counted. But of course Charles liked guys too; Charles liked _everyone_.


End file.
